Five #2
“Well …” Daphne drew out the word, this time more from enjoyment than trepidation.
Save for their obvious admiration for Gillian, these women gave off only nonjudgmental vibes, and she didn’t hate having their attention on her.
What’s more, this group that shared both an occupation and close connection to Gillian might provide Daphne with the best contrast or context for her earlier reaction.
If they all went blank-faced and stoic, she’d know the expression was par for the collective vocation, but if they didn’t, Daphne would know where she stood with the woman sitting, patiently aloof, across the room. “I’m opening a snuggery.”
Everyone paused, polite smiles frozen, and, for a second, she worried they might’ve fritzed out in unison.
“Sorry.” Tegan shook her head as if she hadn’t quite heard. “Did you say you’re a smuggler?”
“No, I said ‘snuggery.’”
Robin nodded slowly, then said, “I don’t know what that means.”
“A snuggery is where people come for therapeutic human contact from hugs to full body holds, or repetitive touch. There are a lot of reasons people seek such services, but the short version is most humans need platonic touch within the confines of healthy and respected boundaries in order to thrive. Sadly, not everyone has that in their lives, which is why they pay me. I’m a professional cuddler. ”
Brooke’s eyes went wide, but she managed a hint of a smile. “I see what Gillian meant about having so much to learn. Do you consent to questions, because you’ve certainly piqued my curiosity?”
“Answering questions is my favorite.” Daphne pointedly refused to look at Gillian. “Curiosity and openness are gateways to growth.”
“I don’t even know where to start,” Tegan said excitedly. “How’d you get into this or find clients? What are the rules? Do you have a governing body for the profession? Has there been research on … everything?”
Daphne grinned, overwhelmed in the best way, before Robin hopped off the desk.
“Sure, sure, research, theory, best practices, blah blah blah, but what about a demonstration?”
Daphne warmed at the rush of enthusiasm. These women were everything she wanted in colleagues or neighbors or even friends. While they ran across a spectrum ranging from tentative to all in, every one of them met her in the moment, amiable, attentive, interested, and open.
“I’d love to do a demonstration,” Daphne said to Robin, then looking to Brooke and Tegan added, “and answer any questions that come up.”
Then, with a little pause, she turned to Gillian, keeping her voice even and devoid of the satisfaction she felt at the responses she could now compare hers to. “As long it’s okay with The Boss.”
Gillian finally lowered her hands from her mouth, then took a slow, deep breath. “Extra opportunities to study new concepts have never steered me wrong, though I prefer clinical observation to experiential learning until I have a grasp on the theoretical underpinnings of the practice.”
Daphne pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh at the juxtaposition of her overly formal response to the others’ enthusiasm, but she needn’t have tried so hard because everyone else in the room cracked up openly.
Even Brooke giggled. “Gilly, that’s the most elaborate way I’ve ever heard anyone say they don’t want a hug right now.”
Daphne was about to clarify whether Gillian didn’t want a hug or didn’t want a hug from her, but as Gillian rolled her eyes, her cheeks colored and she smiled, a real, genuine show of chagrin and affection that changed everything.
Something soft, something self-effacing, something human emanated from her, and the question died on Daphne’s lips.
Suddenly, she didn’t want to know the answer nearly as much as she wanted to know this side of the woman in front of her.
“How’s this my life?” Gillian mumbled, growing lightheaded, as if the gravity that normally tethered her to firm ground had shifted.
She’d apparently stepped into an alternate universe in which everyone agreed to play along in some farce without acknowledging the absurdity of Daphne spooning Robin …
on a bed … across the hall from where they all did their life’s work.
Or maybe her friends were all so deeply committed to their jobs, and could play the part so seamlessly, they forgot they were watching a theatrical production.
The thought calmed her natural revolt against the idea of touching at work.
While Gillian had never considered herself an actress, she’d received enough training on addressing clients suffering grand delusions to at least understand the merit of avoiding jarring doses of reality.
Still, as she leaned against the wall watching her colleagues dive in with Daphne, Gillian didn’t get the sense any of them were placating her.
“Where’s the research on this field currently being conducted?” Brooke asked from her perch on the couch next to the bed where Daphne lay on her side, curled around Robin.
“The studies are everywhere,” Daphne answered enthusiastically. “I first came across the core concepts in neonatal care. The benefits of skin-to-skin contact with newborns are off the charts. From there it wasn’t hard to find connected studies in areas from immunology to attachment disorders.”
“Fascinating,” Robin said sleepily.
“Lately, I’ve dipped into a lot of the work connecting to cardiology,” Daphne continued. “That’s where some of my most regular clients at my old practice came from.”
“Cuddling has heart benefits?” Tegan jumped in.
“Very much so. Physical touch has been proven to lower stress on the heart by regulating pulse, stabilizing intravenous pressure, and recently it’s even been proven to lower cholesterol.”
“I do feel my blood pressure dropping,” Robin said, happily ensconced in a near stranger’s arms.
To be honest, Gillian should’ve seen that one coming.
Robin had always carried a loose sense of boundaries around personal space.
Until Sawyer’d come into her life six months ago, she’d often ended up in similar situations with women she’d just met.
But for Brooke to engage said stranger in professional discussion during the encounter bordered on absurd, and Gillian had such a low threshold for absurdity.
“Platonic touch has been widely shown to lower cortisol in the bloodstream, which in turn soothes the nervous system,” Daphne continued evenly, one arm looped under Robin’s shoulder and the other across her midriff. “Does this position work for you?”
“Working wonders.” Robin stifled a yawn. “I usually sleep half on top of Sawyer in some kind of sprawl wherever we happen to crash. Being held deliberately is a different thing.”
“It’s also different for every person,” Daphne said. “I haven’t finished outfitting the office yet, but there will be a futon and some floofy beanbag chairs to give clients options.”
Gillian silently congratulated herself on not mentioning that she’d prefer touching options didn’t require a down payment, or strangers.
“Do most people come in wanting something specific?” Tegan asked, once again giving rise to a slew of images of which types of physical contact Gillian feared people came in hoping for.
“Some do,” Daphne said. “Most seek cuddle therapy because of a need that’s not getting met, whether it’s regular hugs, snuggles, or a specific hold after a breakup.
Some are looking to cut the edge off long-time loneliness.
Others are searching for new ways to get their needs for physical touch met after changes to their bodies from injury or age.
A smaller number find their way to me as part of their recovery from trauma. ”
Gillian’s chest tightened, and a question slipped from her lips with more tension than she cared to hear in her own voice. “What makes you qualified to assess and treat trauma?”
Daphne just smiled. “I don’t suppose anyone is ever qualified to treat all aspects of all traumas in all people, but I have a niche where I can offer support. For instance, one client approached me with a very detailed set of requests for replicating her mother’s touch.”
Brooke’s eyes narrowed as if she shared Gillian’s misgivings. “Like a reparenting experience?”
“Somewhat,” Daphne said. “Her mother had died slowly of Alzheimer’s, and in the last five years of her life, she no longer recognized my client.
She said horrible things, then became physically violent.
When she passed, my client had trouble grieving because the good memories and gentle touch she longed for had been clouded by memories of verbal and physical violence carrying the strength of recency. ”
Gillian’s stomach twisted at how easily a young person in such a vulnerable position could be abused or manipulated by someone accepting financial payment in exchange for mothering by proxy. Before she could say so, Daphne extracted herself from behind Robin. “Here, I’ll show you.”
Robin agreed without so much as blinking, which was simultaneously one of her best and worse qualities in Gillian’s mind.
“I would sit cross-legged, and the client would rest the back of her head in my lap.”
Robin didn’t require any more instruction before assuming the position.
Daphne looked down into her eyes with such an easy kind of affection, Gillian’s stomach clenched for an entirely different reason.
There was a peace and acceptance in her gaze that had always come so naturally, and though Daphne had never pointed any of her effortless grace in Gillian’s direction, she’d seen it offered liberally to others all through high school.
“We’d sit like this, and I’d drag my fingers through her hair from front to back.
” Daphne demonstrated by sinking her hands into Robin’s thick, dark mane.
“And she’d tell me stories from her childhood, little memories of her and her mother cooking together or throwing rocks in the water or playing hide-and-seek. ”